


Late night run-in

by ThymeSprite



Series: Marvel Imagine Stories [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Psychologists & Psychiatrists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3252917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThymeSprite/pseuds/ThymeSprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a break-in into her practise, the reader meets Bucky and proceeds to help him with his amnesia as best she can.<br/>With unexpected outcomes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late night run-in

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot was inspired by [this tumblr-blog](http://marvelximagine.tumblr.com)  
> "Imagine having an argument with Bucky when he suddenly kisses you."

Rubbing your eyes from the tiring work day, you stared at your monitor, then glanced at the pile of patient files next to you. You snorted in disappointment. You could have sworn that the pile was just getting bigger even though you had worked on its reduction for a few hours by now. It had gone dark outside, for crying out loud!

“Screw this.”, you muttered and decided that you would not finish the files today. True enough, you had put it off for days now, after all, you hated the paperwork that came with being a psychiatrist, but you loved your job. Moreover, it was time to go home, you could barely read anymore with your tired eyes.

So you closed the files, virtual as well as physical ones, and had just clicked the button to shut down your PC when you heard a loud crash from outside your office.

A window. That was a window, more specifically a window that had just been smashed in.

Why would someone break into your practise?

That did not make any sense to you, but after all, this was New York. Who knew what sort of nonsense people came up with. Especially after you had seen the helicarriers of SHIELD destroyed only the day before.

Glad you had at least a baseball bat in your office, you decided to grab a hold of it, just to be safe. You had almost snorted at the notion that a mere baseball bat would keep you safe - who knew who was out there? - but you grabbed it all the same and listened, waiting. You heard nothing.

Thinking that the late hour must have given you the willies and you had just imagined it all, you were just about to let the bat in your hands sink, but then you heard something. Someone was rummaging through things. You heard a quiet curse, then footsteps, growing heavier as if the person was barely able to stay on their feet, then you heard a loud crash, then a thump. The thud of a body crumpling to the floor… and then nothing but silence, ear-piercing silence.

You had no idea what had happened out there in the room you used as your practise and your heart was racing with fear, but eventually, your instincts and oath as a doctor won. Whoever was out there could be dying, so you could not simply stay here like a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights. Even though you felt exactly like that, your nose was twitching even.

Nevertheless you tiptoed over to the door behind which the intruder was, presumably unconscious, hopefully not dying but incapacitated. Still, you held the bat at a ready and then quietly pushed open the door.

It was dark in the room, but the street lights illuminated it enough for you to quickly assess the situation. Yes, one window had been smashed, the one closest to the fire escape, so that had probably been the route in. Half of your closets were opened, rummaged through, but obviously whatever the intruder had been looking for had not been in there. Or he had not had the time to take it, for the intruder lay there next to the last closet he had opened.

In the dull light you saw something glistening on his right shoulder and back and you knew this sight from your early days as a doctor. Blood… lots of it.

Letting go of the baseball bat and hearing it fall to the floor, you quickly switched on the lights and ran to one of the closets he had not opened to get your first aid kit. You thought that maybe he had been looking for this, but not found it.

When you turned around to rush to the unexpected patient, you found yourself face to face with the man and he grabbed you by your throat.

“Don’t…”, you managed to squeeze only this one word out, then he growled at you, “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will if I have to.”

You shook you head no, your heart beating with your fright, but he did not let go. So you slowly raised the first aid kit in your hand to show it to him. The gaze of his blue eyes darted to it as if anticipating a weapon, but when he saw it for what it was, his grip at your throat loosened a bit. Just enough so that you could speak and you told him: “I’m a doctor. And you need medical attention.”

He growled, clearly not happy with it, but he nodded roughly and let go of you. You took a deep breath, but immediately his left hand was back at your throat, not as tightly this time, but it was there, an unmistakable threat.

“Do not make me hurt you.”, he told you and you shook your head again. When he let go of you, you gestured to a chair and said: “If you sit down and take of the shirt, I can check on your wounds.”

When you mentioned his shirt, his head snapped round to you, but then he grimaced and wordlessly slipped off the blood-soaked shirt. You gasped, for many a reason. First, he was battered and bruised so it was a wonder he had even managed to run anywhere from whoever had inflicted these injuries on him. Second, his left arm was made of metal. And this told you who he was… the Winter Soldier, the one man that had had the whole of New York hold its breath in fear of the assassin.

And somehow his face seemed awfully familiar, as if you had seen it before.

He raised his gaze to you, frowning, which snapped you into action.

“Let me see.”, you asked and moved next to him, deciding that he would not appreciate you standing behind him where he had no means to control you.

You hissed when you saw his injuries up close.

“You need to go to a hospital.”, you told him, but he barked, “No.”

“Those are deep gashes.”, you argued, “I cannot do much for you, just clean them and stick a band aid to them.”

“Then do that.”, he ordered, but you objected, “That won’t do you any good. You need medical attention.”

“No.”, was all he said and you took a deep breath, ready to argue when he interrupted you, “I heal quickly.”

“Sure you do…”, you mumbled disbelieving, but then shrugged and started cleaning his wounds.

“I’ll get a towel.”, you said and when he frowned, you told him, “You are caked in your own blood. I don’t see a damn thing.”

He shrugged his injured shoulder and barely winced.

When you returned with a damp towel and a bowl of water, he was still just sitting there, staring into nothingness, until his gaze returned to you, watching your every move.

“I am not your enemy.”, you said with a crooked smile as you began to wash the blood from his skin so that you could at least see his wounds properly.

“I don’t know.”, he mumbled quietly, probably also involuntarily, “I don’t know anything anymore.”

The sadness in his voice and in his eyes made you wince. Yes, as a psychiatrist you had seen your fair share of suffering people, but never had you seen someone like him. He was truly and utterly lost.

So while you washed his skin, you tentatively asked: “Why not?”

He looked at you as if he had forgotten that you were there, then he looked away and you could tell that he regretted having said anything in the first place.

“You don’t have to tell me.”, you said carefully, putting the towel away and reaching for the gauze and disinfectant, “But you can. I am psychiatrist, you know. Maybe I can help you.”

He frowned at you, his gaze so intense that you flinched.

“Or maybe I can’t.”, you quickly added, “But I could try.”

You concentrated on his wounds then and he was silent throughout the cleaning of the deep gashes. You really wished he would go to a hospital, but you understood that he did not dare.

“I will have to suture this wound.”, you informed him, “And that one probably too.”

He just nodded, but you added: “I haven’t done that in a long time. There could be scars.”

He snorted with laughter then and you knew it was hysterical laughter that shook his shoulders. When he suddenly fell silent again and looked at you, his eyes were glazed over and he cynically said: “Look at me. Do you really think another scar would matter?”

“Of course it does.”, you replied and he frowned again, so you elaborated, “Every scar means that there was once a wound. And every wound means pain, memories. Every scar is a constant reminder of where we have once been.”

He was silent as you said that and then looked away, but gruffly said: “Do it.”

Without a word, you got the needle and suture thread, glad you had kept them, then you began closing the wound. He did not even wince, not once.

The first few stitches would have made your instructors during your studies blanch, but your hands soon remembered the process and you neatly closed the wounds. When you snapped off the last thread, your late night patient suddenly said: “I… don’t remember my past. There are… flashes, sometimes, images, sounds…scents. But nothing I can grasp.”

“Amnesia.”, you said and he slowly turned to you, so you informed him, “Many forms can be treated, it depends on the person and on the reason for the amnesia, but most patients regain at least some of their memories.”

What you saw in his eyes then you could not describe properly. It was hope, mixed with fear and so much pain it clenched your heart.

“Can… can you help me?”, he asked and you knew that speaking these words had probably taken all of his pride and then some. But you answered: “You are the only one who can do that. I can try to guide you, work with you, but I cannot give your memories back. You will have to discover them. I won’t lie to you, this can be an extremely painful, laborious process. You will have to tell me things you probably don’t even want to think. And it takes time.”

He nodded, rolling his shoulder as if testing its mobility, but then his gaze returned to you and he asked: “Can you?”

“I will try.”, you said and he frowned, but then shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, so you tried to catch his attention by asking, “Do you remember your name?”

“No.”, he said, pain in his voice, “But… he called me Bucky.”

“Who did?”, you asked and he looked at you, anger and shame in his voice, “My target, my mission. Captain America.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but your patient did not see it and added: “He told me my name was Bucky.”

“Bucky as in…”, you began and when he looked at you, you brought yourself to finish, “As in James Buchanan Barnes?”

He stared at you, then asked: “Do you know me?”

You sighed sadly, knowing now why he had seemed so familiar. After all, you had been in the museum, just like about everybody else in New York.

“Almost every child knows about you.”, you slowly told him and he stared at you, “You were in the war with Steve Rogers, Captain America. You were friends.”

He frowned and when he spoke, his voice was thick with anger and despair: “I don’t remember.”

“Not yet.”, you carefully told him, but the look he gave you told you he did not believe it. And it made you flinch in initial fright. But you stood your ground and told him: “I told you, it can take a lot of time. Do not expect too much of yourself and don’t beat yourself up because of it. It is not your fault that you don’t remember, always keep that in mind.”

He scoffed, a reaction you knew so well, but it still hurt to see this sort of suffering. So you told him: “There are means to refresh your memory, maybe trigger some memories to come back. Everything can help, a song that once held meaning to you, scents are extremely powerful. But for starters I’d suggest you visit the museum about Captain America.”

He looked at you, confusion in his eyes and it made you grin crookedly before you got a hold of yourself and confirmed: “Yes, there is a museum. And there is also information about those you fought by his side. James Barnes was one of them, you were one of them.”

He frowned again, shook his head, but then said: “If you think it would help.”

“I do think so.”, you said, “But I think you should not go alone.”

He looked at you puzzled, so you explained: “A returning memory can be… disturbing. There’s no telling what it might be and what it might do to you. So you should not be alone. I’ll come with you.”

He blinked as if in disbelief, but you merely nodded and smiled encouragingly. He then nodded as well and so you suggested: “First, though, we both need to get some sleep.”

Again he nodded and then reached for his shirt.

“You can’t wear that.”, you interjected and he looked at you angrily, about to protest, so you said, “Let me check, I think I still have some scrubs of a male nurse somewhere…”

Without waiting for his reaction, you went over to the closet in which the scrubs were kept for the helpers in your practise and true enough, you produced a shirt that you hoped would fit him. You handed it to him and he slipped it over his head, but its sleeve was short and he glared at the metal arm that was showing.

“Hmm...”, you mumbled and then rummaged through the closet again, this time producing an arm-sling and a piece of cloth, “We’ll put your arm in the sling and cover the rest up with the cloth until we get to my place.”

“Your…place?”, he asked, with that frown again, but you replied sympathetically, “Where else would you go? I have a guest room and if we want to try and get back your memories, it is best you are somewhere safe. The rest of the city is not safe.”

“Is your place?”, he countered, and you shrugged, “Maybe not, but at least it puts you in close proximity of your new shrink. Me.”

His frown deepened, but you could also see a hesitant grin on his face.

“It’s not like I have anywhere else to go…”, he then muttered and you nodded, getting ready to put his arm into a sling.

He backed away from you and you raised your hands in defence and to show him you were unarmed. He knew that, of course he did, but showing him again could not hurt, you thought.

He took a deep breath and nodded at you, so you proceeded to put his arm in the sling, then covered the rest of the metal up with the cloth.

“Well, it’s as good a disguise as any.”, you mumbled and he looked down at you, one eyebrow raised, but you went over to the closet again and told him, “Here, you should also take this.”

You produced a baseball cap you had once worn to the office, ages ago, and then forgotten here and when you offered it to your guest, you explained: “I’m afraid quite a few people will know your face. You should hide as best you can.”

He frowned again and it made you wonder if he could do anything else, but then he accepted the cap and mumbled: “That’s not my team.”

“What was that?”, you asked in genuine surprise, a smile on your face and at first, he frowned, but then he repeated with a hesitant smile, “That’s not my team.”

For a moment he smiled, but then his face fell and he added: “I don’t know what my team was.”

“Don’t worry.”, you said, half serious and half joking, “It will come back. Wait until you watch a game and find yourself cheering for a team.”

He snorted at this, but put on the cap and nodded. You were good to go.

“It’s not far.”, you told him and together you made your way through the streets of New York. When you had reached your apartment and opened the door, Bucky held you back.

“Wh…?”, you began, but he silenced you with a harsh gesture and went in alone. You decided not to follow, unsure what to do.

A few moments later, he re-emerged from the darkness in your apartment, startling you, and he told you: “It’s safe.”

“Thanks for checking.”, you said and he nodded absentmindedly, as he closed the door behind you and locked it. Paranoia, you really could not blame him, for his paranoia was probably justified.

“Alright…”, you began, “Let’s see how we can settle in.”

So that you did. Over the next few days, you two came to some sort of arrangement. Bucky had the guest room to himself and would retreat whenever he wanted to, but you were there for him in the evenings. During your workdays, Bucky would try to read up on all the history he had missed since the 1940s. When you had tried to teach him how to use a PC and the internet, he had surprised you with already knowing how.

“Technology is useful as an assassin.”, was all he had mumbled in terms of an explanation and you had left it at that.

On the evenings, you had talked to him, tried to help him find a path back to his memories and at first, it had not gone well. As you had presumed, Bucky refused to talk about many things, but had demanded too much of himself. And when he finally had talked, you had almost wished he had not. What Hydra had done to him, even what little he remembered… it was sickening.

But you both got through it together.

On the first weekend together, you visited the museum about Captain America. Bucky spent hours there. Hours in front of the wall explaining Steve Roger’s early life, going over it again and again. And he spent even more time in front of the wall in his own memory.

At first you had left him alone there, but when he had not moved in an hour, you had walked up to him. And found his gaze glazed over, his features contorted in pain and confusion.

“This…”, he began, bitten his lip and started again, “This is…me?”

“It is… who you started out as.”, you offered as an explanation, but it did not help him much, as you had feared.

“Why do I not remember this?”, he had added, “Any of this?”

“I guess Hydra had made sure you would forget this part.”, you suggested, “After all, it is very important for all of the American history since then.”

Bucky looked at you puzzled, the first time he had taken his gaze off the wall in over an hour and you felt the question in his eyes, so you elaborated: “Captain Rogers had been bullied as a child. So all he knew about power and those who have it was that they can do whatever they want, hurt whoever they despised. And then… there was you.”

His frown deepened, and you shrank under his scrutiny, but nevertheless finished your thought: “You, Bucky, his best friend, you protected him. He was weak, he suffered at the hands of powerful people – at least powerful compared to him then. Imagine what had happened if he had received the serum and all he would have known about power is that it allowed a person to inflict pain and do whatever they liked. He would have been cruel and powerful enough to be a tyrant. But you… you protected him, you showed him that power can be used to protect, to help. I have thought about it for a long time, both in history classes at school and when I was here at the museum for the first time. I think you are an important part of what made Captain Rogers the man he is today. A protector. Without you, he would have been monster.”

Bucky stared at you for a long moment, then he simply turned back to the wall and read it all over again.

You left him to it and when he finally moved on, you were there to accompany him. And it was only for the better, because whatever it was, he was suddenly shaking violently and hunched over as if in pain.

“Come on, Bucky.”, you carefully said to him then and put an arm around his shoulders, trying to hide his metal arm between your bodies, “Let’s go.”

He had barely managed a nod then and as soon as you had gotten him home, Bucky had first stared into blank space, but then had started talking. Quietly, hesitantly, but he had told you about what he remembered about being found by Hydra and patched up, experimented on. He had remembered the agonising pain of a severed arm, the fear of death… and ultimately the knowledge that he had fallen into something worse than death.

That night, he had hidden in his room, but well after midnight, you had decided to go to him no matter what. And yes, he had tried to get you to leave him, but you had refused and in the end, Bucky had grabbed a tight hold of your hand, saying nothing, but visibly drawing new strength from the contact.

You both had developed a routine within a few days together and after two weeks, it did not even feel strange to you anymore that you were living with a man you barely knew.

It was… normal, in a way. And you liked it.

Being with Bucky was far better than being alone all the time and he soon felt like the best friend you had ever had. Sure, you should never have let him come even this close, he was a patient, after all. Well, at least some sort of patient. And you could not help it anyway.

This was shown to you a few weeks after your realisation, that one night you decided to look up some songs that had been popular shortly before the War had forced Bucky to leave for the frontline. Most of the songs he shook his head to, meaning he did not recall them, but you saw his fingers immediately reacting to the music, the rhythm of it.

You smirked to yourself, thinking that he had probably been a very fine dancer, but you said nothing. Instead, you simply switched to the next song and Bucky tilted his head, listening closely. This much was enough to tell you he recognised the song, but even more so did his smile.

“I know this one.“, he said then, „I… have danced with a girl to this song.“

From the smile on his face you figured it was a happy memory that had just returned to him and he laughed, jumping to his feet and offering his hand to you. At first, you frowned in confusion, then disbelief, but then you shook your head: „No, Bucky…“

„Yes, (Name).“, he had countered, „Come on, lass. One dance.“

You groaned, but when he grabbed your hands to pull you to your feet, you stammered: „I don’t know the steps you’re used to.“

„Shush.“, Bucky said with a smile that seemed untypical of him for you, “I’ll show you.”

You did not believe it, but he did show you and in no time the two of you were dancing in your living room to music you had never heard before, but Bucky obviously loved and knew, for his movements came so naturally it seemed almost magical even though you had no idea what you were doing. But it did not matter, Bucky had you firmly in his grip and you simply followed his lead. It almost seemed like a glimpse at the man Bucky had once been.

When the song ended, you tried to step back from him, but he did not let you go, instead he pulled you closer and asked: “Another, come on, darling.”

Had he just…? You did not really believe it, but still you replied: “Alright…”

He smiled and whirled you around to the next song, at one time even dipping you so low you were surprised you had not hit the floor, then he pulled you up again, tightly against his chest. His face was mere inches from yours and in that instant, you realised that he was not just the best friend you had ever had. He meant far more to you…

“I…I should go.”, you stammered, confused, embarrassed and not knowing what an Earth you were doing, “I… I’m…tired.”

What an excuse, you sarcastically thought to yourself. And you could tell that Bucky did not believe it, either, but nevertheless he let you go and stepped back, a crooked smile on his lips as he said: “Is it alright with you if I stay up and listen to music some more?”

“Of course.”, you stammered, then you quickly made your way to your bedroom; in other words, you fled.

“Good night, (Name).”, you heard Bucky softly call after you and even though you did not turn around to him, you wished him, “Good night.”

You tried to sleep, but it was no use that night. The dance had made you realise that you were in love with Bucky. A patient, a stray…an assassin. Former assassin, you corrected yourself, but still. He was dangerous… and kind at the same time. He could be brutal, but also gentle, you had seen both sides of him.

Basically, you did not know what to do. You were in love, yes, but what about him? Did he feel something for you? And if he did, was it just gratitude for all the help you had given him?

“Shoot…”, you groaned and hid your face in your pillow in shame. This pondering was getting you nowhere and you knew it. But you could not exactly go into the living room and talk about your feelings with Bucky, either. You were screwed.

Just when you sighed again, nevertheless pondering the situation all over again, you heard a pained groan from the living room.

Frowning, you sat bolt-upright in bed.

Bucky.

That was your first thought, something had to be wrong with him. Not caring in the slightest about your attire that was just your pyjamas, you left your bedroom to look for Bucky.

You found him on the sofa, his blanket on top of him, but kicked to the side slightly and he was only dressed in pants, so maybe he had decided to sleep on the couch tonight. He was asleep in front of the PC, the music still playing and Bucky was thrashing around, groaning in pain and fear. He was having a nightmare.

You wondered if he had not had any nightmares since you had taken him home with you or if he had hidden them from you, because this was the first time you saw him like this. It was terrifying.

And you were at a loss about what to do, but your instinct was to go to him, so you did that. In the back of your head you heard a voice telling you to stop and that it was an incredibly stupid idea to do that, but you pushed that voice aside and approached the man you cared so much about.

“Bucky.”, you urged him, “Bucky, wake up. It’s just a dream, it’s okay. Bucky, please wake up.”

He did not react, merely thrashed around even more violently and he moaned and whimpered, so in your desperation, you touched Bucky’s naked shoulder to shake him.

In an instant he was awake. His eyes snapped open and when he saw you, Bucky snarled, jumped to his feet and his metal arm grabbed a tight hold of your throat, iron hard and ice cold against your skin.

“Bu…!”, you tried to call out to him, but it was no use. You felt as if he was crashing your windpipe when he threw you to the floor, never letting go of your throat. You hit your head painfully hard on the floor, you even thought that you felt the warmth and stickiness of blood on the back of your head, but you were not sure as your vision began to swim with the lack of air in your lungs and the dizziness in your hurt head.

Still you tried to fight, maybe it was instinct, so you lashed out at Bucky, kicked and punched, but it was no use. All you could see were his blue eyes filled with anger and cold efficiency.

You felt your consciousness slipping away from you and thought if this was really how you would leave this world when suddenly the immense pressure on your throat was lifted.

You drew a deep, rasping breath that made your lungs burn like hellfire, you coughed and a wave of nausea washed over you as you did so.

“(Name)…”, you heard Bucky whisper and you heard him stumble, fall to the floor.

When you managed to look at him, he was crawling backwards, away from you, his eyes wide in terror.

“I’m…okay.”, you could barely voice the reassurance, you coughed some more when you did and your throat hurt, but you could breath. Propping yourself up on the floor as much as your swimming head allowed it, you felt for the spot that had hit the floor and true enough, you felt blood and you hissed at the sudden pain. It was throbbing, but you were pretty sure it was just a minor wound, a cut, extremely uncomfortable, but easier to survive than a bashed in skull which it was fortunately not.

“I’m okay.”, you told Bucky again, but he was still just staring at you, hyperventilating and shivering.

“Bucky, I’m okay.”, you repeated and crawled over to him, as you did not trust yourself to stand up just yet, but he backed away, shaking his head. You wanted to calm him down, but your throbbing head made it almost impossible to think. Still you tried: “Bucky, it was a nightmare. But it’s over now, you’re here with me, you’re safe. It’s okay.”

He shook his head again, but you repeated, as reassuringly as you managed with a bloodied hand, a still bleeding wound and a voice so sore it was not even funny anymore: “I’m okay, I’ll be fine. Just please help me with that wound. Just a bit of cleaning up, a long night’s sleep and we’re both fine.”

Without a word, Bucky jumped to his feet and for a moment, you thought he would flee, but then he came back with a towel and your first aid kit. He knelt down next to you and gently started to clean your wound. It hurt like hell, disinfectant always did, and you hissed, but at the same time you had to grin as this was very similar to how you two had met.

But the pain was almost forgotten when Bucky combed his fingers through your hair. It could have been that he just wanted to part your hair to have better access to the wound, but to you it felt like a soothing touch.

Your nausea quieted down and when Bucky was finished with cleaning your wound, you could look up at him without the feeling of having to throw up any second now.

“I’m alright.”, you told him again, but his grimace told you he did not believe you.

“I am sorry.”, he whispered, his voice barely audible, but you slowly shook your head, “I just need to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll be better.”

Bucky helped you to your feet and led you to your bedroom, placed a towel on your pillow and then tucked you in.

“Forgive me.”, he mumbled and you managed a murmur, already passing out, “I ’lready have…”

Then there was only blackness until you woke again with an incredible headache.

Cursing to yourself, you tried to get up and for a moment, nausea hit you as cruelly as it had last night, but then you managed to get out of bed. You gingerly felt for the lump on the back of your head and with a hiss you acknowledged that it was quite impressive. And painful.

When you got your dressing gown, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and gasped. Your throat was all black and blue.

“I guess that means scarves for the next couple o’ weeks…”, you mumbled to yourself. Then you decided you needed a good breakfast and strong coffee and you were extremely glad that it was weekend already, so no work that day.

You left your bedroom and looked for Bucky, as you wanted to talk to him. He was in the living room, sitting on the couch and when you walking in, his gaze snapped to you. He quickly got up, but he just stared at you.

“Good morning.”, you said, and only then noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he had not gotten even one second of sleep last night.

“I will leave.”, he whispered, then turned around and walked to your front door.

“What?!”, you asked when he already had his hand on the handle, but you rushed over to him. Well, you tried, but you were still dizzy, so you stumbled and would have fallen had he not caught you.

“I’m leaving you.”, Bucky told you firmly, but you heard his voice faltering, “It’s… for the best.”

“No it’s not!”, you shouted at him, “It’s not.”

“It is.”, he said awfully calmly and turned around to walk out the door, but you grabbed a hold of his left arm and pulled to turn him back to face you.

“No.”, you objected and pulled some more, but Bucky stood there, motionless like a rock, “You have already recovered so many memories, why would you want to stop now?”

“This… can’t work.”, Bucky stated, not looking at you, but you shouted, “Are you nuts? It has worked for more than three months now!”

Bucky closed his eyes at these words, but you were so angry at his willingness to just give up for no reason at all, you kept pushing: “It has worked, you remember your baseball team, you remember your time in school with Steve, you remember dancing, for crying out loud! What’s changed?”

Bucky was trembling by now and when you had finished your sentence, he rounded on you, grabbed a tight hold of your upper arms and growled: “I’m in love with you.”

“Wh…?”, you stuttered, but you did not get the chance to finish this sentence.

Bucky roughly pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that tasted of so much pain, despair, longing.

When he pulled back, he released you from his grip as if he had burnt his fingers and he panted: “I’m a danger to you. Despite my feelings, I hurt you. Have you even looked at yourself? That is my doing. And I won’t risk your life… you mean too much to me.”

With that he turned around and had already wrenched open the door, but you blocked his way. True, he was able of simply pushing you out of his way, but he did not, not even when you pushed the door closed again.

“I know who you are, what you can do.”, you began firmly, “I know that you can kill with almost a single flick of your wrist.”

He glared at you and you grinned crookedly: “Yeah, that death glare might kill someone, too.”

“(Name)…”, he sighed, but you put your hands firmly onto his chest and told him, “I have known that when I first met you. And yet I’ve lived with you for months. Has it ever occurred to you that I might be in love with you, too?”

For this, Bucky stared at you, then he muttered: “You can’t be.”

“Says who?”, you countered and combed your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, slightly leaned into your touch as he mumbled: “I’m…”

“Handsome?”, you interrupted him with a grin, “Kind, a good dancer, funny if you put some effort into it?”

“Dangerous.”, Bucky growled with that glare you knew by now and you shrugged, “Yes, that too. But you are getting better. What happened last night was not your fault. It was a nightmare and I acted stupidly. I should not have tried to wake you, but… I could not bear seeing you in such pain.”

He covered your hand on his cheek with his and you added: “You are getting better with every day. Please, don’t throw that away. And give us a chance.”

He sighed heavily, but then nodded slightly and tenderly pulled you closer. When he kissed you this time, there was the same passion and longing, but it was so much gentler.

When you parted for breath, Bucky hugged you close to him and mumbled into your hair: “I don’t want to lose you. You mean too much to me…”

“Don’t worry.”, you reassured him and looked up into his eyes, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

He nodded, still a bit disbelieving, but when he leaned down to kiss you yet again, you knew that you both would try your best. And you were sure that you would make it.


End file.
